Post navigation

Going home without my burden

Some things are too close. Too personal. As Leonard Cohen put it in his songs Going Home and If It Be Your Will, my best friend over the past 55 years has “gone home without his burden, [gone] home behind the curtain without the costume that he wore.”

Wayne Granberry Boulton — click HEREfor the obituary — died peacefully at home in Indianapolis under the tender care of the love of his life — his one and only wife — and their older son Matthew (Matt).

The costumes Wayne wore were academic (Duke Ph.D.) and ecclesiastical (McCormick Theological Seminary M.Div.) robes, but these costumes were faint glimpses into his underlying character.

Knowing the hospice drugs soon would ease him into wherever people go at the end of life, I visited Wayne and Vicki, Matt and Chris and all the Boulton family in Indianapolis two weeks ago. Wayne’s mind was still clear and sharp. His heart, which was always big, without ever being sloppy, was closer to his sleeve.

If it be your willThat I speak no moreAnd my voice be stillAs it was beforeI will speak no moreI shall abide untilI am spoken forIf it be your will [Leonard Cohen, If It Be Your Will]

“Hi, my name’s Wayne Boulton,” said the new roommate in 1964, where we had been assigned to Alumni Hall Room 312 by the housing office at McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago. Although he had arrived hours before my key opened the door, he had not yet chosen which of the two beds, desks, and dressers would be his. That was the first clue that my roommate was un-selfish.

We were roommates for two years until he exchanged vows with Vicki in 1966. I was to be Wayne’s Best Man, but that was before the Chicago Chapter of the Experiment in International Living sent me packing to Czechoslovakia that summer, reducing my status to “would-have-been/ could-have-been/ should have been” Wayne’s Best-Man. When I returned to the States, Vicki had become the roommate to whom he had pledged his troth.

If it be your willThat a voice be true

Wayne’s word was his bond. He was loyal. Honoring his family and friends came second only to honoring the First Commandment to have no other gods but I AM. Wayne knew that we are covenantal creatures whose joy is found in steadfast love, a voice that is true to itself. Wayne did not sing of himself. Self-promotion was not his thing. Close to being fitted for the MBA costume of Northwestern University’s School of Business, he left the fitting room to prepare for a different robe in service to the church and the academy.

From this broken hillAll your praises they shall ringIf it be your willTo let me sing

It was during the Lafayette College choir concert at Westbury High School that Wayne and Vicki met. The love at first sight led to the births of Matthew and Christopher, and stayed fresh until there were no more costumes. What began with the twinkling of an eye ended the same way — with thanksgiving washed by tears.

No compassionate person would wish that a loved one with terminal pancreatic cancer continue to wear the patient’s costume. “I’m dying,” he wrote to the members of the wide circle of friends he had gathered. Former students, faculty colleagues, and neighbors in Holland, Michigan and in Richmond, Virginia; members of the churches he’d served in Maryland, New Jersey, and Massachusetts, and the latest friends in Indianapolis. He embraced the coming end of life, neither denying death’s finality nor betraying his deepest conviction: “in life and in death, we belong to God.”

The loss of of a best friend hits hard, no matter how much we expected it. “Hey, Roomie” was the way he began our phone calls. Choking through the tears on this side of the curtain, I give thanks that my roommate has “gone home/Without [his] burden/Behind the curtain/Without the costume/That [he] wore,” and pray against all my doubts, that some other strangers may be greeted the way I was:

16 thoughts on “Going home without my burden”

Elysa and I were with dear Vicki for an hour this afternoon. What a sweetheart; and what a blessing it has been to have Wayne as a dear friend of mine. Like his obituary written by his family, your words, too, give justice to the faith and witness, not to mention his intelligence and charm, Thank you for sharing, Gordon.

Jim, I’m so glad you and Elysa spent time with Vicki. These days in death’s shadow are hard for anyone grieving the love of their life. Vicki is now going through the haze of these days of aftermath. She had no time to be in touch with her grief during the long month of daily care to his needs. Thanks for writing, Jim. One of these days we’ll meet over a glass or cup of something. First Church-Decatur raised me, let me make rookie mistakes, stood behind me through public confrontations with the chief of police over TeenTown, showered newlyweds and our first child with love.

I heard something the other day about what heaven is after death. It’s not the image ((nor is “hell”) that some of our childhood stories conjured, but rather how well you are thought of by those still living. If that’s the case, Wayne is on one of the highest clouds! Peace.

Oh Gordon, I am so very sorry for your loss. Wayne’s beautiful spirit shines through in every line of this touching homage. His was clearly a beautiful soul and I know he will be sorely missed, but undoubtedly he lives on in your loving memories.